Hale-Bopp
by lamentomori
Summary: The second anniversary of their first date is at once a big and small deal. Warnings: Side fic to the Tail of a Comet trilogy (I'd recommend reading the Trilogy) M for Slash (Colt/Punk), smut, fluff. A little fic to celebrate the anniversary of the 1st chapter of Comet itself.


__Warnings:_ 2nd person Colt PoV, Slash, Smut, Fluff - lots of fluff. _

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><p>When you get home the house is in darkness. It's not something you're used to; he usually leaves a light on in the hallway for you if he's awake. Whilst his sleeping has improved since he came home, he has a proper sleeping pattern at least, he'll usually forgo it on the days you're coming home late so that he's the first thing you see when you get back. It's good; it's so very good, better than good, <em>great <em>really, this life, it's everything you'd hoped for with him. It's everything that you'd longed for over the years, over the many brutal emotional assaults you inflicted on each other, _this_ is the relationship you'd wanted, both of you comfortable with each other, both of you at ease, open with each other, and most importantly him safe, happy and _yours_. There's no doubt in your mind he's all three of those things, there's no doubting the strength of the bond between you, there never has been really, but there was a time that felt like there were poisonous barbs on the ties that bound you together. There were times when the connection between you was grim and painful, when you wanted to somehow remove him from you and your life, but thankfully that's all changed. You're still bound to each other, still bonded together tightly, but now it's like the softest, strongest threads in the Universe are wrapped around your relationship. You don't, could never, want anyone else the way you want him, you're certain of that. He's the other half of your soul, the other half of you. He's also either not in, or asleep. You're mildly offended that he's not there waiting for you, especially tonight of all nights, but you suppose he'll have a good reason, though, you're not entirely sure what it'll be. You glance at the calendar in the kitchen, today's date ringed in red a few times.

_**Happy Anniversary Punkers!**_

_**Do I get a cake or do I got to buy it?**_

_**Cake? More cake? I'm all for cake!**_

_**Buy me one then...**_

_**But you bought me cake last year!**_

_**Exactly!**_

_**Okay - I'll provide cake. ;)**_

You're fond of the silly messages you leave each other on the calendar, it's something ridiculous special that amuses you. You like checking to see if he's added anything new to any dates so you can make a little comment, but there's nothing new written there. The house really does seem to be entirely empty, and you're surprised, he's a romantic little thing, it's a shock that he'd forget your anniversary. You're not really sure what to do with the cake you bought him, if he's not here to eat it, it's kind of a waste, and you're not going to eat it without him, you bought it for _him_ after all. You wander through to the living room, the fresh scent of lemons in the air, but it always is. He seems capable of conjuring the scent up from nowhere, at least nowhere you've discovered, even he smells like them, but you know that's down to his shower gel, that you always steal so you smell like lemons too. You consider watching TV, but you're not really in the mood. In all honesty, you'd wanted to come home, give him cake, make love to him and go to sleep, but it seems like the plan is going to have to skip a couple of steps because he's not here.

You head upstairs and find the bedroom door locked. You didn't even know it could be locked so you've no idea what to do but knock.

"Punkers?" You can hear noises behind the door, and him swearing.

"Wait! Go shower or something, I need like ten minutes." He shouts back at you, and you stare at the door wondering just what exactly he's up to back there. Last year your anniversary had been pretty special, a strange recreation of the first time you'd fucked up your relationship, only without the fucking up. It's a night you often think about, both versions of it, and you wonder if it had gone well the first time round would you be together like this now. There's a large part of you that's doubtful, that thinks you needed to do a lot of growing up to be able to handle a real relationship, one that's got anniversaries, and curious little quirks.

"Okay... You want me to take your present to you?" You call back to him, and hear him swearing again.

"Present? You get me my cake?" He sounds unreasonably excited at the prospect of cake, but to be fair you are too. This new diet your on is good, you feel better for it, but you've not had cake in a _long_ time, you're kind of looking forward to eating it again.

"I did." You can hear him thumping on the other side of the door, coming closer to it.

"Turn round." He snaps, and you do as he asks, turning your back to the door, and hear him leaving the room, the door closing behind him, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Hello." His warmth against your back is glorious, you might have only been gone a few days, but you missed his arms. "Where's my cake?" You laugh at him; he's clearly fixated on getting his baked products.

"Downstairs, I wasn't taking cake and nothing else to bed." You laugh at the huff in your ear.

"You thought I'd be out tonight? Sheesh... Ye of little faith." He sounds _huffy_, but not really annoyed, and you squeeze his hands. You feel a little guilty for assuming he was out, but he didn't give any indications he was home. Although, really, you should know better than to second-guess him by now.

"You want this cake or not?" You ask him, his firm hold is rooting you in place, and you're not going to be able to get it for him if he doesn't let go. He loosens his hold, only to hop up onto your back clinging like a monkey, his chin digging into your shoulder.

"Onwards to Cake Mountain." He laughs in your ear, and you grab at the parts of him you can reach, holding him to your back as best you can, making your way down the stairs _carefully_. "Is it from the good bakery? I expect it to be good cake, all symbolic and delicious." He sounds unreasonably pleased with himself, and you've no idea what to expect when you finally get to see what's in the bedroom.

"I'm not too sure about symbolic, but it is delicious." You're fairly certain it will be at least, you've never had a _bad_ cake from this little bakery.

"Hmm, well I'll settle for just delicious." He laughs, and you shake your head, finally safely arriving in the kitchen and letting him off your back.

"One cake." You gesture to the box, but ignore it in favour of pulling him close to you and kissing him. Time away from him makes you crave him in your arms, makes you crave his taste in your mouth, his scent in your nostrils. "I missed you." You mutter against his lips, kissing him again. He moans in response, his arms around you, his kiss just as frantic, just as needy.

"Missed you more." He mutters, taking a third kiss, and pulling back resolutely. "I have plans though... This is coming with me." He picks up the box, heading back to the bedroom with it and a knife. You follow along behind him, wrapping your arms around him, kissing the back of his neck, hoping to distract him into letting you kiss him again.

"I'm not sure I wanna combine sex and cake." You trail little nipping kisses over the back of his neck, feeling him shiver slightly.

"What? No! No kinky cake sex. Cake is for eating, your cock is for fucking..." He laughs, and you kiss the side of his head.

"I dunno, I kind of enjoy eating you too." He makes an odd little moan at your comment, and you grin against his neck, nuzzling him when he pauses at the bedroom door. "Still not allowed in?" You ask him and he shakes his head. "So I guess I'll go shower... I need to bother getting dressed again or is a towel permissible for this _plan_?" You kiss his hair again, squeezing him once, and he chuckles quietly.

"Towel very much fits the dress code, Mr Colton. We shall expect your company presently." He turns with a grin that bleeds to your smile rapidly. There are times when he looks at you like this, his eyes happy and bright, your smile on his face, and you think you fall a little more for him. There are times when he's so beautiful it's actually painful to look at him, and right then is one of those moments. "_What_?" He says softly, and you lean closer to him, brushing your nose over his, getting a soft little _giggle_, though he'd staunchly deny it, from him.

"You're gorgeous, and I love you." You tell him plainly, and he ducks his head slightly, a pale blush on his cheeks. It doesn't matter how often you tell him you think he's beautiful, he still doesn't seem to believe you. You suppose it's a good thing, if he did believe you, he'd be impossible to deal with.

"Go shower, idiot." He mutters, the blush darkening. "You know... I think your good looking too, right?" He mutters softly, and you stare at him. You don't think he's ever mentioned that. He's told you he loves how you make him feel, that he loves you in general, and you've assumed that he's physically attracted to you, but he's never _said_ it. "I'm not gonna call you beautiful, cause that's fucking girly, and I don't think you'd appreciate it like I do, but you're fucking hot." He grins, and you stare back at him. "What? You _are_!" He laughs, and you can't think of a thing to say to him, instead you just stand there blinking dumbly. "Ha!" He crows, kissing you on the forehead. "I knew it wouldn't be just me that doesn't believe that shit." He sets the cake box down, and wraps his arms around you, his lips softly against yours in what is barely a kiss. "Years of body dysmorphia aren't easy to ignore are they?" He chuckles and you kiss him.

"Still gonna tell you you're pretty, Punkers." You brush your nose over his, before kissing him again.

"Hmm... Whatever. Shower, be quick." He stands by the door and watches you got to the bathroom. You make a show of closing the door, and chance a quick glance in the mirror. You've no idea what he was talking about, because you're not hot, you're a dumpy Jew, but like he said, whatever. You can be pseudo-married to a delusional idiot, its fine with you.

You shower quickly, avoiding the mirror the second time around, not willing to think too long or too hard on what he said. You're quite happy to put it down to love making him blind, because he does love you, he loves you possibly more than you love him, and you adore him, but you don't think you've his way with words or emotions. He's not the sort of person who just _feels_ things, he lives them, every second of his life he _lives_, very emotion he has he invariably acts on. He's creature led entirely by his heart, and it's _always_ led him back to you. You're led by your head more often than not, and that's usually a terrible thing, because your head is sometimes not very sensible, but thankfully it's smart enough to know that with Punk is where you should be.

You knock on the bedroom door, not willing to just barge in, but alls he does is shout _come in_ at you, so you push the door open and stare. The bedroom is filled with candles, what looks like hundreds of tiny little pinpricks of light. He's sitting on the bed, your smile on his face, dressed in your favourite shirt. The soft light makes him look unreasonably beautiful, makes his skin look softly golden, makes his hair look shot through with hints of soft caramel, and warm chocolate, picking out the deep green of his eyes.

"So... Cake?" He taps the box beside him, and you wander over to the bed, cupping his cheek and kissing him. One of those slow, deep, toe-curlingly good kisses, that have him whimpering and chasing your lips when you break it.

"Cake sounds good." You wonder what he'll make of this cake. It's nowhere near as symbolic as his cake last year, but you're not quite as symbolic or sentimental as he is, still it is _slightly_ symbolic. He laughs when he sees it, and grins up at you.

"This must have taken them ages to get right." The cake is kind of plain, a simple sponge, though you made sure to stress you wanted it to be lemon flavoured, the frosting though is a sheet of rolled icing draped over it like a blanket, a very familiar and very ugly blanket currently draped over the back of the couch in the office. "I can't believe how much like the real thing it is." He laughs again, and you nod.

"Had to take the damn thing to them... I think they think we're insane, they've made some weird cakes for us two." You laugh as he snaps a picture with his phone. "For posterity?" You ask him and he tosses the phone to you, letting you look at the photos. There's a folder marked cakes, a shot of every one of the odd cakes you've both bought from that little bakery. Every single one of them, from the pizza cake you'd given him for his birthday two years ago, to the lemon cake he gave you last year, to the slightly ridiculous crazy cat man cake you'd both given Marty after the latest girlfriend breaking up with him.

"Crazy, but we pay them well... And I know that Marty's been going down there a lot. So we're like giving them extra customers. They should be grateful." He starts cutting the cake, and hands you a slice before taking one for himself.

"He thinks one of the girls is cute." You smile at the little happy face he's pulling, clearly he approves of his gift. "It's okay?"

"_Dis goo_." He doesn't bother swallowing before telling you how good it is, and you tap his nose, trying to remind him of manners, but he keeps eating, ignoring you in favour of food. It is good, a little sharp, sour lemoniness to counter the cloying sweetness of the frosting, but a little sour always makes sweet that much better. Just take your Punkers for example, for all he's the sweetest, best thing in your life, he can be a sour, and slightly insane, bastard when the mood, or lack of sleep, takes him.

"It is good." You agree, watching him licking his fingers, and going back for another slice, taking a bite when he offers it to you, he takes a bite after you, and you're unsurprised when he offers it back to you for more, you've the feeling he's gonna share this piece with you. It's another two slices before he pushes the box away, and you set it on the table by the bed, tugging him to you to kiss him. He settles against you easily, letting you kiss and stroke him, all slow and languid.

"You shouldn't have let me eat all of that. I'll be bitching in the morning." He tells you with a laugh, and you nod, kissing him again.

"I know, I know, but so will I." He laughs back and nuzzles against you.

"Could get a head start on burning off those calories... I mean I went to all the trouble of making this fire hazard." You snort in amusement at him and stroke his hair back from his forehead.

"And a lovely fire hazard it is too." You assure him, moving to lay over him, kissing him deeply, his legs wrapping around your hips.

"Hmm... Oh! I forgot!" His wriggles beneath you and you move off him, sitting on the bed beside him as he leans over it, leaving you with a view of his bare ass. You run your hand over the curve of it, squeezing the firm flesh slightly. "Hey no molesting till I give you your present." He turns to you with a glare, and finally rights himself on the bed, handing you a fruit bowl full of lemons. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he grins at you. "You can read them at your leisure." He snuggles against you, and you pick one up.

_**Your smile**_

You turn it over, but that's all there is on it, so you grab another.

_**Your eyes**_

"The hell is this?" You _think_ you've an idea, but it seems like a waste of good fruit.

"List of things I love about you." He grins, and fishes around in the bowl. You're not sure how many defenceless lemons gave their lives to his madness, but you're kind of touched. It's ridiculous, but very sweet of him. "Here, this is the most important one."

_**I love you**_

You grin, it's a message you've carved into hundreds of lemons for him, and really, you probably should just buy a lemon tree the amount of these poor fruits you've both mutilated over the years, you should give something back to the citrus fruit that has always been there for you.

"I love you too, and I'm buying you a lemon tree. I think we should start some kind of lemon rescue program or something." You chuckle and he dissolves in a laughing fit, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. You don't think it was _that_ funny, but you do love to hear him laugh.

"Oh god, yes! I want a tree and a charity for my birthday." He grins at you, and you wonder briefly if he remembers that you're going to Japan over his birthday so he's getting a ticket, some stays in hotels and lots of time hanging out with Hero again.

"I'll do what I can, Punkers." You tell him solemnly, and his grin melts into your smile. He leans up and kisses you, his hands skimming under the towel around your waist, opening it easily.

"Been playing with myself." He mutters in your ear. "Feel." Your hand slips between his ass cheeks and brushes over his hole, there's a plug inside of him, and you press against the end of it. "Wanted you in me all day." He whispers, rocking back against your hand. "Miss you _so_ much when you're not home." He pulls the shirt he's wearing off, then moves to straddle you, taking your cock in his hand, stroking you slowly. "I hate being on my own, Colt." He leans over to kiss you and your hands tangle in his hair, holding him close.

"I miss you too, Punkers, but it's not for long, and I'll _always_ come home to you." You kiss him again, resisting the urge to thrust into his hand. "And when it's too long, I won't leave you behind, too long and I go mad without you." He laughs softly, and starts nibbling at your throat.

"Not too mad, I'd have to break up with you if started seeing things too. One lunatic per relationship, the voice in my head told me so once." He laughs again, and you trail a hand down his back to pull the plug from inside of him, making him gasp.

"The voice in your head told you that you were the crazy one? I worry about you, Punkers." You laugh, easing a finger into him, finding his hole stretched and lubed already. He's told you, depressingly extensively, about just how mad he went during the _darker_ periods in your relationship. He's told you about the strange voice he dubbed _Life_ that he'd argue with, to you it sounds like he'd given himself a dickish version of Jiminy Cricket, but he'd argued that _Life_ was far more annoying than a bug. You didn't argue, just considered finding him a psychiatrist, just in case because there really shouldn't be voices in your head, but now that he's home, now that he's free, he's apparently no longer troubled by hallucinations caused by a lack of sleep. "You gonna ride me, Punkers?" You tilt his face up to you, and he nods, his eyes half-lidded as you finger his hole, massaging his prostate. "Good, I wanna watch that. Go on then, show me how much you missed me." He nods again, and shifts, slowly lowering himself onto your cock.

"So much." He moans, squeezing his ass around you and slowly rocking up and down. "So fucking much... When we off to Japan?" His voice is soft in your ear, and you turn his face to you for a kiss.

"October... We'll be away for your birthday, remember?" You think asking him to remember things at this moment might be unfair; you've just taken his cock in hand, stroking him in time with his deliberate pace of fucking himself on your cock.

"Love hotel for kinky Japanese birthday sex?" He leans back with a grin, and you laugh at him.

"I'm getting you a school girl uniform." You laugh, and he speeds up his movements, riding you faster.

"_Kinky_." The laugh he tries is eaten by a moan, your cock rubbing over his prostate affecting him.

"Only for you, Punkers." You pull him in for a kiss, and spank his ass once, getting a shivery, breathy moan for it. "I might have to remember that." You tell him, and a shiver runs through him. "You like that idea? Want me to spank you? Hmm... Maybe for your birthday, but right now, I want you to ride me till you come, Punkers. Wanna watch you come for me." He nods and starts moving faster, your hand matching his pace. He keeps the faster pace up until your hand around his cock makes him come, and he collapses against you. You stroke his back slowly, letting him get his breathing under control for a while, but you really would like to come yourself. He seems to sense that, and he moans softly as he lifts himself off your cock, and flops onto his back beside you.

"In me." He says breathily. "I want your cum in me." You lean over him and stroke his damp hair. He's truly, utterly perfect when he's ruined like this, just come Punk is one of your favourite incarnations of him.

"Too tired to work for it?" You ask him, sliding back inside him, his legs wrap around you and he nods.

"Too tired, always too tired without you." Your smile is on his lips, and you kiss it softly. You _love_ that smile, love far more than is entirely reasonable. You don't last long, thrusting into his pliant and perfectly tight body overwhelms you quickly, and you come with a muffled groan, your lips pressed against his. You've barely pulled out of him before he's on you, snuggling up on your chest, his hands worming under you. It's something you don't think you'll ever stop loving; holding him like this, cradling him against your chest, keeping him safe in your arms is the greatest feeling in the World.

"Happy anniversary, Colt." His lips are wearing your smile, that glorious, kitten fluff soft smile, a smile you'll see every day for the rest of your life, and know you'll never get tired of, that smile is the last thing you want to see before you close your eyes every night forevermore.

"Happy anniversary, Punkers." You rub your nose over his, smiling back at him. He settles against you once more, his head under your chin, his breathing evening out, and you lie there running your fingers through his hair. When you'd first proposed dating to him, you're not sure you'd expected that two years later you'd be still curled up in bed with him, you'd not been certain it would work, but this _finally_ does. Two years later you've squabbled, you've argued, you've weathered strange and unexpected storms, but you're still together, you're still strong, you're still in love. You think that twenty years later you'll still be in love with him. Last year he'd said there was nothing you could do to him that would make him stop loving you, and you think the reverse is true. There's nothing he could do to you that's worse than what you've already done to each other, so there's nothing that could make you stop loving him. "I love you." You whisper against his hair, and he licks your chest, turning to look at you sleepily.

"I know, love you too. Now lemme sleep. G'night Colt." You kiss him softly, and close your eyes, squeezing him tightly.

"G'night Punkers."

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><p><em>Today is the anniversary of the first chapter of Tail of Comet... It's been a year since I started writing and publishing fanfiction. It's been a weird year to be honest. Lots of awesome things have happened, some pretty shitty ones have happened too. I've met (without meeting) many incredible people that I've bonded with over a shared love of a certain scruffy, little straight edge asshole. So thank you very much!<em>

__**_As ever: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D_**__


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